When the Crimson Sun Sets
by Sea Chelle
Summary: (H/D at some pt.) AU-it's the end of the Dark Wars and the world is ruled by Voldemort. Draco is sent to find the Seer and in doing so, finds Potter as well. Harry is a Mage on the run looking for refuge. Can he trust Draco?


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**Summary: AU The world is ruled by Lord Voldemort and Draco is high in his favor. When he is sent on a mission to find a Seer, he has an agenda of his own. Harry Potter is a Mage. He is on a journey to find the place called Hell's Haven when he meets a young man named Lucas Descry. Luke somehow knows his destination and tags along and along the way, they find Draco. The three journey together through many trials and tribulations. Harry finds himself learning to trust after long years of being alone. He knows he can trust Luke – there's just something about him that everyone trusts…it's Draco he's not sure about. With a past in which rivalry was the only relation between Harry and Draco, will they be able to trust one another? ******

**When the Crimson Sun Sets**

_Chapter One – Meadow of Daisies_

_When the crimson sun sets…_

_When the stars refuse to shine…_

_When the moon begins to glow…_

_And the darkness starts to dine…_

_When blood no longer runs…_

_When hatred buds and grows…_

_When the angels sing their dirge…_

_And the heavens begin to snow…_

_Love will fail and all will fall_

_Darkness will prevail_

_And nothing less than falling stars_

_Will make the shadows fail._

_Into the mortal realm_

_Will they hunt amongst the prey_

_When the crimson sun sets…_

_Do the shadows end the day…_

_~*~_

He pulled his cloak more tightly around himself as the door swung open, letting the merciless wind rush inside. His emerald green eyes were bloodshot as he swirled the ale around in his mug, cherishing the sloshing sound it made against the fairy glass. His hands held it lightly, but they were calloused from long years of labor and hard work. The shadows in his eyes foretold of many rough experiences, while premature lines spoke of stress and pain. 

A sigh escaped his lips when he heard footsteps approach behind and he slowly pulled his hood off as he languorously stood. 

The black cloaked man that pressed forward behind him was large and despite the wand that was aimed at him, the stranger had an aura of surprise. "Potter," growled the newcomer, moving into a duel stance. 

The man called Potter regarded him with an inscrutable expression, but his eyes were as cold as glaciers. Motionless, he stood facing at the stranger in a relaxed state. "Yes, and who are you?" he wondered, a hint of amusement bellying his words.

The stranger grinned revealing two rows of crooked yellow teeth. "That ain't none o' yer business," was the reply, and he spat a curse that would send Potter into a screaming heap upon the dingy floors of the pub. By now, many a gaze was set upon the duo. The one man looked threatening whereas the other seemed as if he was talking politely with a political acquaintance. 

With the deliberation of one who expects no retaliation or deterrence, the stranger waved his wand and sent the curse flying at the man who stood so tranquilly before him. Potter's hand shot out with lightning speed precision and swatted the curse away. To one trained in the ways of Magic, the setting of his jaw and the correction of his stance would be _almost_ perceptible and would give a hint as to what his action would be – but the stranger had no idea what was coming to him. Potter raised his hand and, as if wringing the stranger's neck, pushed and squeezed. His opponent flew backwards and was slammed unceremoniously against the back wall. The table beside it was flipped to the side so as to provide more room. Unhurriedly, the Mage advanced towards the man who was squirming, choking, and prying at imaginary fingers shoved so harshly against his throat. 

"Now," said Potter, his voice a cold drawl. "Perhaps you didn't hear me, but I asked for your name."

~*~

Lucas Descry was freezing his bloody arse off and he searched wildly for a place to go. It was raining cats and dogs outside and the only thing he could see for miles was a small sphere of light a mile away. With no other choices before him, Luke held his rucksack tightly to his chest and ran towards a place where he hoped he'd find shelter. 

Minutes later, he stumbled into a small village, gasping for breaths as he wiped raindrops from his face. By now, his jacket was soaked through and so was his shirt. His pants had been drenched from the start, but he virtually couldn't feel his knees and feet anyway. Just then someone ran into him, knocking his ragged rucksack to the sodden dirt streets below. All his pieces of parchment exploded from within the tattered bag and blew in a mini tornado in the malevolent wind. "Blast!" he cried, and desperately tried to get every single piece of paper back. 

"Terribly sorry!" said a woman, but she didn't stop to help as she rushed away down the street.

Luke was too busy trying to preserve every scroll and piece of parchment to notice that the person who had caused the mess was not going to help him. When every paper in sight was stuffed back into the shabby rucksack, he sighed at the muddy mess that his bag contained before looking around for a place where he could recopy them. There was a small pub nearby and he decided that a drink wouldn't hurt as he spent the rest of the night rewriting innumerable scrolls and scraps of inscriptions. 

Thus, the young man treaded towards the pub and relished the feel of warmth as he entered. Taking a seat against the right wall, he sat down and pulled a clean pack of scrolls from inside his jacket. It was a bit soggy, but nothing that a charm wouldn't cure. His muddy pieces of paper, however, were preserved against magic. "Bloody lot of good that does me now," he muttered. He settled the bag upon the table and pulled out the first sheet of parchment, an inkwell, and a quill. Next, he brandished his wand and muttered a spell that would dry his scrolls and quill. As for the eternity charm that masked the true words written upon the muddy scrolls, he muttered a soft string of words that would lift it.

Then he began writing. 

For someone such as Lukas Descry, words poured forth from deep within his soul. As they appeared upon pieces of parchment in fresh authentic ink, they came to life and the words created pictures and images within his mind. The story that the papers told danced into life in his mind and he scribbled furiously upon the scroll. A smile of satisfaction played across his face as he set down his quill – the first inscription was finished and the eternity code was in place.

It was only when Luke's table flipped over that he noticed that something tumultuous was taking place. His eyes darted to the man who was slammed by an invisible force against the wall. Luke's sapphire blue eyes took in the blue tinge emerging upon the man's lips as he tried sucking in air through a windpipe that was completely blocked by an unseen obstruction. Was he choking? Luke stood up abruptly, but then he caught sight of the powerful presence of a man advancing. 

He sat back down quickly just as the ominous man with the icy green eyes regarded the man pinned against the wall. His arm was outstretched and his fingers wrapped around an invisible object. With a tone that sent shivers of fear down Luke's spine, the frightening stranger said, "Now, perhaps you didn't hear me, but I asked for your name." 

And Luke, at hearing the voice, felt the jolt of another set of inscriptions to be written jitter at the tips of his fingers.

~*~

Potter released some force as he loosened his fingers around the imaginary neck he held before him. The stranger that had earlier approached him gasped the new found source of air and stared in undisguised shock and terror. There was a long moment of silence as everyone in the bar stared at Potter – some with awe, some with fear, and others with excitement…but only one person had stared at him in that way, and he was currently scribbling for all he was worth upon a new scroll of parchment.

At another slight squeeze of his neck, the stranger against the wall said quickly, "Kieran Hunter!" 

The man called Potter released Hunter and the man collapsed upon the ground, gulping in lungfulls of air and staring up like a fish on land at the intimidating man standing above him. Had Potter been less of a Mage than he was, a smirk just might have been visible upon his face. 

Before he turned on his booted heels, he said in low voice that was heard throughout the pub, "Tell Voldemort that I'll face him when I'm ready."

~*~

Luke felt a rush of the cold night's breeze sweep in and glanced up from the parchment he was currently writing on. When he noticed that the man called Hunter was released and there was no sight of the man who had ridded himself of an enemy, Luke jumped up and crammed all his papers into his rucksack after spelling it to repel water – he was prepared for the weather. 

He forgot, nevertheless, to shield his clothes from the rain as well.

The young man ran a hand through his curly brown locks and rushed out the door. He just _had to stay with Potter – it was imperative to his very being. _

There! He spotted the intimidating man a bit down the street and quickly glanced around before running after him. Potter turned a corner and Luke was wheezing before he reached it. He turned and immediately slammed against the brick walls of the alley in much the same way as Hunter had been in the pub. He felt rather than saw the hand pressed forcefully against his chest, but he didn't move a muscle as he thought it would provoke some predatory reaction from his assailant. 

Slowly, he held his hands up in the universal gesture that meant, "I come in peace." 

The response to this was an amused, "What do you want?" 

Luke peered upwards rather warily to be confronted with the unfathomable depths of Potter's deep green eyes. He absently wondered how it was possible for anything to be such a _verdant green as this man's eyes were. "I – I just want to talk with you," he replied, and those simple words could have been the death of him._

And it wasn't only because of Potter's earlier malicious actions.

The biggest tumult in history began when the highly acclaimed Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry fell to the hands of the Dark Lord and Albus Dumbledore, the wizard whom was said to be the greatest wizard alive, was murdered. Voldemort had taken prisoners of every student rather than taking their lives. The sole purpose of this action was to force loyalty from every member of the students' families. 

The world had fallen to pieces just five years ago (a year after the end of the Dark Wars) when groups in Europe with extreme beliefs of wrong and right had waged riots and rebellions so tremendous against one another that soon, a war broke out. The side of the Dark, led by a powerful half-man whom everyone called Lord Voldemort, had fought to have a despotism where their lord would rule above all else. The side of Light, however, without a ruler, fought to preserve free will and all that was right. Most theologists said that it was really a fight of good against evil. It seemed to everyone that the Light was holding the Dark at bay, and soon they would win, but that was not how everything turned out. With a last powerful force, the side of the Dark overpowered the side of the Light and won the war.

Currently the Dark side still ruled with Lord Voldemort in control. Any leaders or patriotic persons of the Light were prosecuted. Anyone on the side of the Dark was called a Death Eater, and superficially, everyone seemed to be on that side. However, there were still those that held the morals of the Light though they had to hide or masquerade as a Death Eater. The prosecution of followers of the Light was still in effect. Muggles as well were getting prosecuted, though most found ways of hiding. Many of them were prejudiced against witches and wizards and avoided them as much as they possibly could. There was a place, which was said to be neutral with Muggles and wizards alike living together in peace, but those were just said to be tales. To most of the Light, it was better for them to pose as Muggles rather than pretend to be of the Dark.

Luke was a writer and one of the few people who knew of the Underground. He traveled by paths overlooked by the Dark Lord's rule and found time to record the images and tales that unraveled in his mind and in his dreams. He was always careful to make sure that those he approached had nothing to do with the Dark…therefore, he barely associated with anyone. It was hard for anyone in Europe and most of Asia to be untainted from darkness – Voldemort's moles were everywhere and it was hard to know whom to trust.

Now, he was taking a sizeable risk…but for some reason, he believed with his whole being that it was one worth taking.

"My name is Lucas Descry," he told Potter, and for an instant, he thought he saw a flicker of something pass upon the other man's face. "I – I don't mean you any harm." 

This caused a harsh laugh. "Of course you do, everyone does," said the man, lowering his arm, but the force against Luke's chest didn't subside. 

Luke blinked at him owlishly, noting the distinctive tone of utter desolation and emotional pain laced in every syllable Potter spoke. He wasn't quite sure what to say next. When he had raced so blindly after this strange man, he hadn't understood just what he was getting himself into. After long moments of being surveyed by Potter, Luke felt the pressure against his chest lift and he took a few deep breaths.

He cleared his throat saying, "I want to go with you when you make your journey to Hell's Haven." It seemed like he was slammed against the brick wall again even before he finished his sentence. This time, the force of the pressure against his chest pushed all the air from his lungs and was an obstruction to any inhalation. He gasped and tried to move something that he simply couldn't touch. 

Potter stepped closer until their noses were an inch from touching. The power that his persona radiated his Luke at full force and he was sent into a coughing fit. Some of the pressure receded, but the fear that had filled the young man didn't fade as he looked past long brown lashes at the intimidating figure standing above him. "What do you know about the Haven?" 

Luke was brimmed from his toes to his hair with terror of this man whom he knew to be a Mage, but this only made him a bit more reckless than usual. He held up a hand in a gesture asking for patience as he wheezed from the Magic that choked him like an attic full of a cloud of dust. "A – A moment," he gasped out and the force ebbed away. He put his hands on his knees and only then noticed that the rain had ceased to fall from the heavens. 

A hand wrapped around his neck and, any thoughts of how people were warm diminished as the touch sent shivers throughout his body. With fingertips that burned like ice, the grip around his neck was painful as it held him loosely but firmly against the wall. "Tell me," said Potter, and Luke closed his eyes.

Visions played against his lids and he twitched as the pain emitting from the other man's hand seared through his skin. There would be a nasty mark on his neck come the morn. "A refuge – a refuge from darkness and there's much light," said Luke, his eyes moving rapidly behind closed lids. "There – there's a man in a field of…daisies? Well, they're flowers anyway – lots of them, all sorts of colors. Tulips! No, I just like that word…" The grip on his neck tightened, but he didn't seem to notice as he rambled on. Potter's eyes were bright with what one would assume to be tears – but there was knowledge and dawning alighting them. "Lots of clouds – funny…they're a bit pink, not at all realistic…where am I?" His voice was soft now and the slight smile that had appeared upon his face faded. "It's cold here, it's really cold – I don't like it. I – I think they're coming…they're flying on – on brooms. I'm covered in dirt…oh, I'm lying down. Where the bloody hell_ am_ I? They've spotted the man. He dropped the flowers he was picking and they – they surround him. Wait – I can't – I can't see…there. Bloody…they're cursing him, they're cursing him and laughing and talking in whispers, but they're hurting him…" 

Luke shook his head abruptly and dispelled the image. He looked around as if having just awoken from a dream. His gaze soon found its way back towards Potter who was looking at him, his pallor contrasting brilliantly with the tendrils of black hair that was so dark, it seemed as if it had been dipped in the darkest of inks. He seemed to just then notice the hand held threateningly against his neck and he blinked blankly against before asking quite politely, "Would you mind removing your hand from my neck? I'm in need of my writing tools." Potter's expression was odd, but he soon complied and Luke pulled out a scroll and began scribbling furiously upon it. After several minutes, he stashed the objects away once more. "So, is that a yes?" 

"To what?" wondered Potter, his voice sounding detached from his person. 

The younger man grinned. "To me accompanying you to Hell's Haven?" 

Potter regarded the slim figure of the boy before him. This young man called Lucas Descry couldn't have been more than seventeen years of age, yet his eyes made him seem so much older. In his eyes were the same dark specks of experience that Potter himself looked at in the mirror himself – whenever one was available of course. Luke was shorter than himself, but where Potter was strong in Magic, the boy was strong in his sheer essence. There was an aura of utter 'self' that radiated off Lucas just as intensely as the Mage's power. The sapphire blue eyes that twinkled with a joke unknown to all of man were like a home away from home. The curly hair astray atop the young man's forehead was oddly familiar to Potter's own, and only these similarities were what made the word, "Yes," escape his lips. 

With an inward sigh, he turned and exited the alley and walked down the road, a very satisfied Lucas Descry trailing after him.

~*~

He pushed a strand of fair hair from his eyes and surveyed himself in the mirror. Often, he found himself wondering what exactly others saw when they laid eyes on him. _Do they see the devilishly handsome man I am? A private spark of amusement would light up. __Or the monster that was bred from birth to become what I am now? And then it would die. _

Draco Malfoy sighed and turned away from the mirror. His room was in shambles, but he had no intention of cleaning up the mess he had made. Those at the 'Retreat' would scoff at his lack of organization, but Draco always thought that a room was solely that – a room. The floor was merely another shelf within itself and thus needed no tidying up. However, he was grown man and his house elves seemed to believe that grown men's rooms should always be tidy. He left it the way it was and strolled from his room – the picture of pure grace and elegance. 

Once he left the room, a runner was immediately at his side, trying to contain her gasps as she held out a scroll. "Message," she breathed, "from Paris. I was told to tell you that – that these are the decoded inscriptions you requested, sir." 

The silver-blonde man accepted the scroll with a well concealed feeling of distaste. The runner was a mess from having raced from the lower level to this third one. He nodded curtly, and sent her off without even a rebuke for her untidy appearance – he was in a good mood today. She bowed and turned to race away once more. Draco proceeded towards the second level where his study was situated. 

Once he arrived, he warded the door and bolted just for precaution. It wouldn't be a good idea to have someone walk in on him when reading the inscriptions. He untied the blood red ribbon tied around the scroll and unrolled it. His eyes scanned hungrily over the words and after rereading the manuscript thrice more, he set it down reluctantly. It hadn't held the information he had wished to receive, but it was good enough. 

Perhaps he should inform the Dark Lord…

No. He wouldn't. This was something that was his and _only_ his. Voldemort may get his precious Seer, but what Draco had would never be handed over willingly. It wouldn't reach the Dark Lord even in death.

It wasn't that Draco hated Voldemort – it wasn't that, really. It was more that he felt he was losing his essence itself. Whatever made up Draco Malfoy seemed, with every second gone by in this god-forsaken hell-hole of home in which he lived, it was slowly slipping away. He tried to subconsciously grasp at it – to take it back, but it slipped through his fingers like water. 

If he stayed any longer, he feared that he would slip away altogether.

The door slowly swung open and Draco barely glanced up as he slid the scroll into his robe sleeve. A man named Jerold Cohen walked in accompanied by two other Death Eaters. The blonde haired man languidly stood up and barely nodded, showing just how contemptuous of the man he was.

"Young Mr. Malfoy," intoned the Death Eater with a smirk. "Rumors are flying that you are anxious to leave Abaddon." He was referring to the most common name of the Death Eater center. "Well, the Dark Lord has issued an assignment meant solely for you." His smirk had slowly faded and now resided only a scowl upon his face. He slowly pulled a roll of parchment from his robe pocket and handed it to Draco. "You are to leave by the moon's rise in two days time." 

With that, Cohen turned and left the room with his bodyguards trailing silently after him.

Draco waited a long moment before warding his door with extra strong protections and silencing charms. Only then did he throw his Sneak-O-Scope fiercely at it. 

He hated Jerold Cohen with every fiber of his being. There was just something about the elder man that rubbed Draco the wrong way. The fact that he continuously tried to sabotage Draco's rise in the Dark Lord's ranks and favor was besides the point. They had been adversaries from the start. Draco was as clever as they came and as heartless and ruthless as any dark wizard – it was one of the factors that got him so high up in the ranks. Cohen hated him for that and also because the young Malfoy was so young and so high in the Dark Lord's favor. Many despised Draco because of that fact – but the young man had always been good at being indifferent to what others believed. 

Draco unrolled the parchment and read his assignment. His eyes danced with a fire that had been quelled long ago and his smile was small and cold. "Find Potter, indeed," he said. 

No worries there, that's what he had been intending since the end of the Dark Wars.


End file.
